Stand-Up Stand Down
by Tomas the Betrayer
Summary: After recovering from his injury, Gerald Jackson stands ready to shine once more! Sadly NCIS is not what he remembered.


"Dr. Mallard?"

The chief medical examiner looked up from his desk in surprise. "Gerald!" he exclaimed in delight. "It's so wonderful to see you again!"

"Good to see you too, Doctor." Gerald Jackson walked up to his old boss and gave him a hug. After taking a step back he looked all around the muted chamber with its coolers and cadavers lying under white drapes. Breathing in deeply, he let out a sigh. "Really good."

"And just in time, too!" Now wearing scrubs and surgical mask, Ducky beckoned towards a nearby examining table. "This one in particular could use your unmatched precision, I think."

"Always glad to help out." Gerald had donned his own uniform and the two men took up position on either side of the table. Without further ado he lifted the tablecloth. Revealed beneath was a dead chicken missing both wings.

"Hmmm." After studying the suspect from every angle, Gerald took off his antiquated head lamp and declared, "I think we can safely rule this a homicide."

Ducky pondered severely. "Are you sure it wouldn't be an 'ornicide'?"

"Depends on which side of the road they found him on!"

At this both men burst into gales of laughter. It was like all the time spent apart never happened, and they were right back in the swing of things.

"Oh, Gerald!" Ducky wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "It's so good to have you back!"

"It's good to be back, Doctor," Gerald grinned.

At this one of the sheets on a slab behind him sat up. "It certainly is," Ari Haswari grinned.

Gerald spun around with a scream. "AHHHHH!"

Uttering a laugh, Ari raised his gun and fired twice. Immediately both of Gerald's arms fell off. He stumbled backwards to land atop the examining table. Dr. Mallard and the smirking Ari gazed down on him from high up. "Such a waste," Ducky sighed, and drew the sheet over him…

* * *

Gerald awoke. He lay perfectly still for a while, breathing fast and eyes darting around the darkened room. After assuring himself it was nothing more than a dream, he rose and sat on the edge of the bed with a groan. His left shoulder where the bullet had gone in throbbed painfully.

It had been eighteen months since the incident which left him on medical leave. A dedicated physical therapist and world-class health benefits had done their best. He was now deemed fully recovered from the crippling injury that came close to ending his career. At least on paper.

There was nothing physically keeping him from going back to work. His mental condition was another matter. Night terrors weren't the half of it. The trauma from that day left him starting at shadows and had cost Gerald more than one relationship. He hadn't worked a day since. Disability benefits would soon dry up, and his savings were taking a hit of late. He spent more time down at the Dept. of Labor pleading his case than he did looking for a job. Their answer was the same every time: unless he actively participated in government work, there was little they could do for him.

But all that was about to change. Starting tomorrow, Gerald fully intended to climb right back on that horse. He was determined to rejoin his comrades in the Naval Criminal Investigative Service and once again do his part for their branch of the Armed Services. Maybe then the nightmares would leave him be.

Lying back down, the weary warrior pulled the sheets up to his chin and closed his eyes. Nothing would change unless he made the effort. No need to fear. It would be good to see everyone again. He remembered them all so clearly. DiNozzo, Caitlin… Abby…

Exhaustion claimed him soon after, but for once his sleep was peaceful.

* * *

"Good morning, Dr. Mallard."

Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard looked up from a petty officer's opened corpse with surprise. "Gerald!" he exclaimed, a smile lighting up his face. "Gerald, m'boy! You're back!"

After setting down the scalpel and stripping off his gloves, the chief medical examiner crossed the autopsy room and pumped his old assistant's hand eagerly. Any chance of a warm embrace was stifled by the bloodstains speckling his scrubs. Still, Gerald was more than happy to return the handshake. "Long time no see, eh, Doctor?"

"Yes, indeed! My word, it's been over a year, hasn't it?" Beaming, Ducky stepped back to survey his old student. "I must say, you're looking quite well."

"Glad somebody thinks so." Gerald took a look around. Very little had changed. The sight of white-draped bodies on slabs sent a chill down his spine, but he resolutely pushed past any lingering trauma. Striving to put on a brave face, he smiled at Ducky. "I'm only stopping by to resubmit my active service forms. It'll take a few weeks for everything to be cleared up. Once they've been approved, I'm looking forward to working with you again officially, Dr. Mallard."

"Oh… of course, Gerald, of course!" Ducky looked about to give him a pat on the left arm, thought better of it and instead patted him on the right. "Well, I'll certainly be… looking forward to that too!"

His smile was as big as before, but there was a slightly pained look to it, like the forensic specialist had a toothache and was trying to hide it. Gerald also spotted how Ducky's eyes were darting towards the back of the room where the changing station was situated. When he saw the look Gerald gave him, the older man took him by the arm and gently guided him towards the exit. "Listen, Gerald, what do you say we go out and get a bite to eat, hmm? I'd very much like to hear what you've been up to these past few months!"

He blinked in confusion. "Doctor, you've got a body open on the table. It's not like you to leave anyone's remains unattended."

"Oh, think nothing of it." There was a strained quality to Dr. Mallard's voice now. "I'm sure that someone will be along soon to…"

"Ready to go, Dr. Mallard!"

Both turned as a skinny kid came bursting out of the changing area. He had glasses, curly hair, and the energetic smile of a rookie paper boy on his first route. Upon catching sight of Gerald, he came to a halt. "Oh, hello!" the boy scout chirped. He then walked forward with hand extended. "Never seen you around here before. I'm…"

"James, NO!" Ducky shouted in horror.

"… Jimmy Palmer, Dr. Mallard's assistant. It's nice to meet you!"

Ducky covered his eyes, abashed. For his part, Gerald stared at the offered handshake as the new golden boy came to stand before him.

His eyes narrowed.

"You Scottish sunnavabitch…"

Slowly he rounded on the clearly mortified Ducky. "You replaced me…" One finger rose trembling to point at Palmer. "… with _this?_ I was gone for only a _YEAR,_ and you filled my position with 'LEAVE IT TO BEAVER' OVER HERE?"

Jimmy's face had taken on a cross, befuddled expression. "Um, hey, I don't know who you are, but I don't think you should be speaking to him that way."

Gerald spun about quickly, causing the kid to jump. "Oh, I'm SORRY, Jimmy! Did I not introduce myself? I'm Gerald JACKSON! The man who took a bullet in this very room trying to keep my friends alive! Now I come back to find I've been replaced by the whitest slice of Wonder Bread in the whole damn _bakery aisle!_ Hey, hey, y'know what?" He advanced on Jimmy in a threatening manner, causing him to nervously scoot backwards until his back was pressed against the wall of cadaver bins. "Maybe I can get _your_ old job, _Jimmy._ Are they still taking applications at 'The Daily Planet'?!"

He slammed a clenched fist into the wall beside Jimmy's head, making him jump. At the same time, a bin came shooting out of the wall like a cash register drawer to reveal an attractive young Asian lady who was very much alive.

"Hello!" She jumped up, buttoning her blouse and blushing while they all stared. "I'll just… I mean… bye."

The girl beat a hasty retreat. When the door slammed behind her, Gerald was the first to recover. "Who was that?"

Jimmy ducked around him. "I don't know, but I should definitely go and check on her. Dr. Mallard, I think you and your friend would probably want a chance to talk, I'll just get my coat and…" He yanked open a locker only to stumble back as a man and a woman came tumbling out of it.

"Ah-ha, yes!" Agent Anthony DiNozzo exclaimed upon springing upright. "And that is what an NCIS medical locker looks like from the inside! I hope you've enjoyed your tour of the facilities so far, Agent David!"

"Yes, thank you, Agent DiNozzo!" The curly-haired beauty held out her hand which Tony shook with military rigor. "It was very informative! I feel like a used rubber!"

Tony froze. His eyes squeezed shut, face turning red as a strangled noise escaped from the smile he fought to keep in place.

The woman glanced around. "Was… that the wrong expression?" She then caught sight of Gerald. "Oh, hello. Nice to meet you. I am Ziva David from Mossad. What is your name?"

"Tony?" Gerald stared at them in disbelief. "What's going on here? Who is that? And where–?"

The answer to all these questions would have to wait, as the doors swung open to admit Abby Sciutto dressed like Marilyn Monroe. "Hi, guys!" she grinned, taking absolutely no notice whatsoever of how every man in the room couldn't stop gaping at her with their tongues hanging out.

The charming Goth crossed over to Ducky's desk and selected a folder to go leafing through its contents. Four sets of eyes were busily undressing her, so Ziva took this opportunity to vanish in a puff of ninja smoke. Meanwhile Abby had apparently concluded her business and turned to go strolling towards the exit. "Oh, hey, Gerome," she smiled at Gerald on her way out. "Long time no see."

"It's… Gerald… actually," he mumbled, too stunned at the sight of her to come up with anything else. After Abby left he shook his head and looked all around. "I… don't know what's going on here, but…"

Tony was busy stuffing his shirt back down his pants. "Things might have changed a little since you've been gone, Geoffrey."

" _Gerald!"_ he bit back, eyes narrowing with fury.

"Really? Damn. I was thinking I'd remember your name because it was the same as that kid from 'Game of Thrones' that nobody liked or remembers now." His face brightened and he looked up with a grin. "Can I call you Geoffrey just to make it easier for me?"

"NO! Now would one of you please explain what is going on here?! You've got somebody's sexy Asian girlfriend hiding in a fridge, an Israeli pinup girl, and Jessica Rabbit with tattoos running a forensics lab! Who is responsible for turning this place into a CATHOUSE?!"

"Oh, Gibbs, you dog, you!" Director Jenny Shepherd jumped and giggled as Gibbs smacked her on the behind. The two of them strolled into the examining room together, him with a cup of coffee clutched securely in one hand and the other draped around her waist. They looked like lovesick newlyweds on their honeymoon. Or at least she did. Gibbs just looked smug.

"You're such a man, Jethro," Jenny purred as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "It makes me think of that time we spent in Paris! Of course, my oh-so-brief escapade spent with you is the only part of my past worth remembering." The Director of NCIS pointedly ignored everyone else in the room. Only when Gibbs drew up short to stare at Gerald did she bother to notice his existence. "And who is this?"

Incensed, he drew himself to his full height. "My NAME is…!"

"I remember. Hey, George." Gibbs clapped a careless hand on Gerald's left shoulder as he walked by. "Welcome back."

"GAAH, YOU SUNNUVA–!"

Searing agony flared through his injury again, but Gibbs had already forgotten about him and moved on to more important affairs. "Waddaya got for me, Ducks?"

The senior agent stood with one hand on his hip as he took a sip of coffee. Clutching his wounded limb, through a bright flash of pain Gerald saw the holster of Gibbs' gun on his hip as the jacket moved. The memories of that horrible day a year ago came flooding back. All the fear, the anger and humiliation… it was as if a brick wall he had carefully built to keep it all out had crumbled like mud before a hurricane.

Without hesitation Gerald lunged forward and yanked the heavy firearm free. Everyone whirled around as Jimmy Palmer let out a frightened scream. "AHHHHH!"

* * *

FBI Agent Tobias Fornell emerged from his sedan and was immediately handed a bullhorn by one of his underlings. "What's the situation?" he asked as they strode towards the NCIS building. A wall of cars ringed the front entrance behind which crouched a small army of FBI personnel.

"No fatalities to report and no ID on the perp," the man informed him. "All we know is that he's got over half a dozen people held hostage on the main floor. That includes Agents Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee, Dr. Mallard, and Director Sheppard. He's packing everything from heavy artillery to handguns, and we can't get a single legible word out of him."

"So how did we get this information?"

"She told us, sir."

The agent pointed, and Fornell looked over to receive a cheerful wave from Abby Sciutto still wearing her getup. She was surrounded by some very friendly men of all shapes and sizes who seemed quite keen on making her happy judging by the stupidly vapid grins on their faces. Several Caff Pows were in evidence.

"According to her she just walked right out the door, sir. The assailant didn't stop her." His assistant now wore a similar goofy grin as he stared at that six-foot sex icon. Tobias felt a strong urge to go over there and assert his authority as the prime agent in attendance by telling them all to clear out so he could have her to himself and…

No. Get ahold of yourself, man. There are lives at stake here.

"Okay," Fornell breathed. He was now beyond the line of cruisers and agency vehicles, standing alone in the no-man's land between them and the crisis zone. Years of experience in hostage negotiations and similar deadly situations were on his side. But the knowledge that people he personally knew were in that building made him feel the pressure like never before. It was time to put it all on the line.

With a final glance at the phalanx of armed personnel arrayed behind him, Fornell lifted the bullhorn. _"Attention in there! This is Special Agent Tobias Fornell of the FBI! I don't know who you are or what you want…!"_

A bullet spanged off the pavement a few inches away from him. Tobias held perfectly still.

"MY NAME IS GERALD! GERALD JACKSON, Y'HEAR?"

Fornell swallowed. Well, that's a step in the right direction. At least now they were on a first-name basis. He focused on a window of the third floor, where some geeky-looking kid crying his eyes out was being made to stand as an impediment to snipers. Faintly off to one side he could make out a figure crouched down out of sight. Fornell resumed his negotiation. _"Alright, Mr. Jackson. Help me to end this without anyone getting hurt. What is it that you want?"_

"I WANT MY OLD JOB BACK!" a powerful man's voice yelled. "AND I WANT IT BACK JUST LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO _QUIT!_ AND THEN I WANT A CAR! ALL GASSED UP! MAKE IT… WHAT? What…?"

The terrorist appeared to have a discussion with someone behind him.

"ALRIGHT! MAKE IT A… what'd you say? Oh, right… AN S-U-X! GOT THAT? FULLY LOADED! AND ALSO… wait… S-U… DAMMIT, DINOZZO, DO YOU WANNA DIE? STOP LAUGHING!"

A full barrage came down from the window, forcing Fornell to take cover behind a cruiser. It was obvious that whatever control anybody had over this situation was wont to vanish at a moment's notice. However, before the FBI agent could determine his best course of action, he felt a tap on the shoulder and turned around. "Who are you?"

"Assistant Director Leon Vance." The man speaking snatched away his bullhorn before Fornell knew what hit him. "With Director Sheppard out of commission, I'm officially taking over control of this incident. All lines of communication are to flow through me, understand?"

With an air of brusque dismissal he then marched right on past. Fornell winced. He knew where this formula was headed. It was par for the course that within the next five minutes, a coterie of arrogant and prickly law enforcement personnel from different agencies would descend on this charming locale like flies drawn to honey to exercise their authority and determine who among them had the biggest set of _cajones_. His greatest fear now existed in the form of two words… _interdepartmental jurisdiction._

Vance raised the bullhorn, then paused to look over his shoulder. "What was his name?"

"Jermaine," Abby Sciutto supplied with a devilish smile. "Jermaine Jackson."

Giving a grunt of confirmation Leon turned back around. _"Alright, Mr. Jackson!"_ he yelled loudly. "I know you think you're _bad_ , but you ain't no _smooth criminal,_ y'hear? So you need to _beat it_ before things get nasty. I know you might be in a _state of shock,_ but it's easy as _ABC,_ 1-2-3! You better get to steppin' before we _burn this disco out_ … with tear gas! We don't want no _blood on the dance floor. Can you feel it?_ Now I'm going to meet you at the front entrance! _Will you be there,_ Jermaine?"

A hail of bullets sent Vance scurrying for cover behind the cordon where Abby lay on her side laughing fit to burst while men crouched down and covered their heads. Savage cursing accompanied the gunfire. When it died, Fornell snatched the bullhorn from Vance. "Gimme that!" he snapped, only to give a start as someone else pulled the item away from him. "Who the–?!"

"JAG." The man in a black Naval uniform flashed his credentials before slipping them back into his coat. "We heard about the situation and came fast as we could. Tell your men to stand down." He indicated with his chin behind him. "We're taking over here."

Fornell glanced to the side where twenty Navy Seals stood outfitted for combat. He closed his eyes with a groan. That's it… the nightmare scenario was suddenly a reality.

"STAND DOWN!"

He didn't even have to look to know that every FBI agent on hand had drawn their weapons and pointed them at the Navy operatives. They all stood in the same exact pose, shoulders bunched, head down to sight along the barrel of their gun clenched in both hands at arm's length. The SEAL operatives had done exactly the same.

"STAND DOWN!" the FBI agents howled.

"STAND DOWN!" the JAG boys repeated in turn, to which the FBI responded, "STAND DOWN!"

"Put your pieces up, kids!"

"Yeah! Playtime's over, dig?"

 _Oh no,_ Tobias thought bleakly. Sure enough there came marching onto the standoff an assembly of freaks and weirdos who were all varying degrees of smokin' hot. Practically joined at the hip in front were two underwear models, one black and bald, the other white with a buzzcut. They each had on thin shirts that looked to be several sizes too small judging by the way they were stretched tight over their muscular frames.

"NCIS, LA branch!" Bulky-and-Beautiful boomed with a cocky smirk.

"We'll take over from here," Hollywood Hunk spoke up in support, also wearing a cocky smirk. "Why don't you Navy boys shake a leg and get me a lime spritzer?" He and his partner proceeded to high-five one another before standing back to back in a pose with beefy pythons crossed over their flexing pectorals as they flashed identical cocky smirks.

"STAND DOWN!" Both JAG and FBI trained their weapons on the new arrivals, who were only too pleased to unholster their weapons in return. "STAND DOWN!" the NCIS background characters cried while their leaders took no apparent notice of the inter-agency firefight brewing behind them.

"Pardon me," a skinny dweeb with black hair squeezed his thin frame between the Dover Boys and stood up straight. "I happen to be the LA branch's operational psychologist, with degrees in Psychology and Psychiatry, thank you, I knew you were going to ask before you did. That being said, I think we can all agree it would be to everyone's benefit if you were to let me perform a full psychological profile on the perp in order to delve into his innermost mind and determine the different environmental variables which might trigger his psychoses, thereby…"

Hunk grabbed the dweeb's head and shoved him out of the way before resuming his pose.

"Okay, y'know what? That's great. Just great. I'll be right over here when everything falls apart and you trigger-happy _ass-hats_ need someone remotely intelligent to pick up the pieces! Uneducated Philistines!" The dweeb then melted into the background.

"Attention!"

 _Goddammit,_ Fornell thought bleakly as none other than Caitlin Todd came striding onto the scene followed by a dozen men in black. She yanked the bullhorn out of the JAG officer's hand and looked all about with disdain. "Agent Todd, formerly of the Secret Service, newly reinstated. We've gotten word of a currency violation going on around here. Our office will be taking command for the foreseeable future!"

"STAND DOWN!"

"STAND DOWN!" Caitlin shouted as her fellows drew their weapons.

Fornell was too preoccupied by the sight of yet another group of misfits headed his way to intervene. Their leader was a shaven-headed thug in a leather jacket and shades who moved with the energy of a man crossing a bar to pick a fight. Cloaked in an aura of brooding brutish machismo, the grizzled he-man marched over and placed hands on his hips.

"Listen up," he snarled. "We were brought here thanks to a secret coded message tattooed on my partner's ass. My team and I will be in charge of this investigation from here on out. But mainly just me." He flipped off his sunglasses to spear them with homicidal blue eyes in a meat slab face. "Anyone got a problem with that?"

"STAND DOWN!"

Agent Grizzly and his men wasted no time whipping out their own big ol' boom-sticks and aiming at their fellow officers. Soon there was a veritable chorus of, "STAND DOWN! STAND DOWN!" echoing through the Naval Yard.

Every agency was now aiming at one another, ready to fire and apparently unconcerned with how this might look to anyone watching. Grizzly and Cate were engaged in a tug-of-war over the bullhorn, while the two LA agents just exchanged cocky smirks and high-fived one another before going back to posing in their oh-so-tight shirts.

The impending disaster was thankfully averted when Jackson opened fire on them from his vantage point, causing every single one of the stern-faced federal officers to hightail it out of range or risk being shot.

"DID YOU CLOWNS ACTUALLY FORGET ABOUT ME? THE GUY WITH THE HOSTAGES? DO I HAVE TO BLOW SOMEBODY'S HEAD OFF TO MAKE YOU TAKE ME SERIOUSLY?"

"Hello, excuse me?" The operational psychologist poked his head from behind a trash can. "I just thought you might like to know that I've deduced the assailant's entire criminal psychological spectrum by examining the occlusion of his diphthongs, so if you want this matter settled…"

He paused upon realizing no one was listening to him. "Oh, alright, you just go back to whatever you were doing. I'm sure it'll work out great. Buncha _monkeys,"_ the dweeb muttered.

Hunk raised an eyebrow and turned to Bulk with a cocky smirk. "Kick his ass?"

"Kick his ass!" his partner smirked cockily.

The two jocks then proceeded to throw the dweeb to the ground and start pummeling him, pausing only to high-five one another and flex.

Elsewhere Fornell had retrieved the bullhorn. He slowly stood up and cast a critical eye around this disaster zone. Gerald was still cursing like a maniac while firing randomly into the pavement. None of the feds were pointing guns at each other anymore, but knowing these dolts that wouldn't last long. In this brief moment of common ground, it was absolutely necessary to forge some kind of cooperation between them all, or the hostages and who knew how many others might as well kiss their butts goodbye.

Sadly, he did not feel up to the task. Wasn't there anyone who could bring this situation to a happy conclusion?

The growl of an engine reached his ears. "Pardon me…"

When Tobias turned around, he found himself facing a man on a motorcycle. Dressed in a red racing outfit with a helmet covering his head, this enigmatic figure vaulted easily off to cross the space between them. "I wonder if perhaps you might let me have a word with him?" the masked rider said casually.

Just as Fornell was about to frame an objection, the stranger flipped up the visor of his helmet to display two twinkling black eyes filled with humor, confidence, and just a tiny touch of malice. They were quite wondrous, really, such that the FBI agent felt compelled to go along with whatever this person said.

Still, he retained enough self-control to ask, "What agency are you with?"

The biker just chuckled. "Don't worry. I have experience in hostage situations." He held out his hand, and without thinking Fornell gave up the bullhorn. The masked man then turned and called out at the building. _"Gerald! Can you hear me?"_

The cursing halted, as did the bullets. An eerie silence descended upon the Naval Yard.

" _Why don't you come out so we can talk?"_ the mystery biker said with a smile. _"I've got a bucket of fried chicken, hot grits, and a huge slice of watermelon for you!"_

Gerald leapt up to the window. "YOU HONKIE MOTHERFU–!"

The biker whipped out a pistol and fired.

Five minutes later the freed hostages were all led from the building by assorted federal officers. Last to come out was Gerald Jackson, held between two FBI agents and clutching his bleeding right shoulder while cursing up a storm. When he caught sight of the biker he made a dash for him, and it took a dozen operatives to manhandle him away, still swearing and kicking insanely while pronouncing some tongue-twister that sounded like, 'Harry Has Wary!'

Agent Fornell shook the hero's hand animatedly. "That was incredible!"

"Think nothing of it." His attention drifted off to one side when some poor intern came rushing up to offer Agent Gibbs a fresh cup of coffee. Gibbs took it, bringing up an arm to threaten her with a backhand when she lingered too long. The intern cringed before scuttling off, and he raised the paper cup to take a sip.

"Excuse me," the mystery man said as he drew his gun once more.

"Sure," Fornell complied with a smile.

A shot rang out, and coffee went spattering everywhere. Blinking, Agent Gibbs stared at the empty cup with a hole blown through it still held before his face.

The masked biker hoisted his weapon without another word. He went back to his motorcycle, keyed the ignition, and popped a wheelie while burning rubber off the lot.

"Who was that masked man?" Fornell demanded in awe.

"I don't know," Caitilin Todd stepped up beside him with a dreamy look on her face. "But I want him inside me!"

The LA duo joined them. "Well, he's gone now, whoever he was," Bulk said.

"We'll never truly believe he's gone, you know," the LA operational psychologist piped up as he came to join them. "If you want my honest opinion, I don't think he was ever really here. It was all just a projection, a case of mass hypnosis, resulting in this shared delusion from psychological stress which only a trained professional such as myself could ever properly diagnose. He's a perplexing enigma, an archetype, if you will, of almost Jungian proportions. I'm reminded of a paper I wrote…"

"Kick his ass?"

"Kick his ass!"

HOW MANY PEOPLE WANNA KICK SOME ASS?!

"Oh, that's right, beat me up!" the OP yelled as he curled into a defensive ball on the ground. "It's funny-HRK… it's funny how you-UNGH… think this makes you better than me! I could-ACK… I could take you both apart… PSYCHOLOGICALLY-OOMPH!"

Fornell simply shrugged and left them to it. Just another day around here. He didn't remember his career always being quite so loopy. In fact, there was once a time Tobias really loved his job, along with the feeling of respect it engendered. This reminded him of some simple yet truthful words one of his colleagues used to say, which he took the time to recite right now.

"Let's be careful out there."

"STAND DOWN!"

"SEMPER FI!"

"Oh, forget it!" Fornell grumbled, and stalked off.

 _ **FIN.**_


End file.
